Checkmate, My Lord (24 page)

Her eyes widened and her nose turned a raspberry red, but she made it through the fiery drink with nothing more than a delicate cough. She handed her empty glass back to him. “Quite bracing.”

“Indeed.” He cocked his head to the side to assess the damage. “Another?”

She shook her head. “I believe I am sufficiently numbed.”

Envy rolled through Sebastian. What he wouldn’t give to be relieved of the constant carousel of disturbing thoughts and images. “About five years ago, your husband came to my attention. Many spoke highly of him. Praised his intellect, ambition, and sense of morality. I spent the next year gathering intelligence on him, checking his connections and finances, monitoring his political leanings, and evaluating his mental stamina.”

“Mental stamina?” she asked. “How do you evaluate such a thing?”

Sebastian hesitated but could not come up with a valid reason not to elaborate. “By placing obstacles in his path and then observing his reactions.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why is that?” he asked. “To be a successful agent of the Nexus, one must prove oneself capable of logical thought while under incredible pressure.”

“Sounds insidious.”

“Yet necessary.”

“I shall have to take your word for it.” She rubbed her hands down her skirts. “Jeffrey passed your little test, I take it.”

“More than passed it, he excelled at that particular stage of the recruitment process.”

“How many stages are there to becoming an agent?”

He rolled his shoulders and rested his forearms on the back of the chair next to hers. Being able to discuss his work with her felt good. Oddly liberating and unexpectedly intimate. His gaze wandered over the soft lines of her face. “As many as it takes for us to know.”

***

Catherine caught Sebastian’s slow perusal of her features and felt an answering jolt in the vicinity of her chest. She angled her body more fully toward him. “Know what?”

“That the individual is trustworthy.” He pushed away from the chair back and prowled around the side, his luminous gaze locked with hers. “That he is English to the core.” He stopped in front of her. “That he has a good chance of survival.”

She swallowed back her trepidation. There was something about this side of him that intrigued her beyond bearing. His tactics were calculating, merciless. Some would even call them cold and unfeeling. But Catherine saw also their brilliance and a deeper, more underlying quality that drove him to these brutal lengths. He cared—about England and his agents.

“What is it exactly that they must survive, my lord?”

“A power-hungry dictator who wishes the world to bow at his Corsican feet,” Sebastian said. “At present, Napoleon Bonaparte’s most desperate wish is to destroy France’s longtime enemy, England. How will he do this? By closing the continent to British trade, thus destroying us without the mess of bloodshed.”

Everything Cochran had told her was a lie. Everything. The Nexus was organized to protect English shores against a French invasion, not to invite them in. And Jeffrey had been in league with the Nexus, not investigating them. Shame filled her heart.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

He sent her a sharp look. “There’s nothing stupid about believing in the purity of another’s heart. Unfortunately, there are those who would take advantage of such goodness.”

Catherine could barely breathe around the constriction in her throat. “When did Jeffrey become a member?”

He stopped before her, and she felt the same sense of being overwhelmed as she did all those days ago in London. This time, however, she better understood the man behind the cool facade. Knew the hero within. The masked vulnerability without. He lowered himself in front of her.

“Sebastian, what of your knee?”

“All the pressure is on my good one. Do not worry, mama hen.”

Her lips twitched. “You were saying?”

“About four years ago.” He readjusted his weight. “We discussed his inclusion during my last visit to Showbury.”

“During the Harrison house party?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

She couldn’t hold his gaze. “A guess.”

“A very good one.” Bending forward, he gripped the arms of her chair. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

Her chest seemed to cave in, pressing against her lungs. She forced herself to face him again. “It was my last glimpse of the man I married. All the times I saw him between then and his death, he was nothing more than an actor playing a part. Badly.”

The warmth that had been building behind his steel-gray eyes extinguished, and his supple lips compressed into a thin, resolute line. With one glance, she knew he regretted the consequences of his association with her husband and she also knew he would not apologize for them either. He was a man of action. Once he evaluated the situation and made a decision, he did not look back.

Instead of moving away, he pressed closer. “Do you miss him?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“No.” His eyes remained hard, but his voice grew rough. “But I would like to know, all the same.”

She shook her head. “No, Sebastian. I stopped missing him a long time ago.”

He brought his hand up to caress the line of her jaw. “Ashcroft served his country well. First as a messenger, then as an intelligence agent. He saved lives, helped avert disasters. He was a hero. Remember that, Catherine. And one day, when Sophie is older, tell her. Tell her how her father helped save England during its bleakest hour.”

She knew from experience that such knowledge did not soothe the hurt of missed birthdays and holidays, of not witnessing a daughter’s first big catch or her first gallop across the meadow. The Navy had been Catherine’s father’s life, his one passion above all else, even above his family. All his colorful medals and his crew’s effusive praise had done nothing to mend the many breaks in her heart.

But she appreciated what Sebastian was trying to do. Catherine folded her hand over his and kissed his palm, afraid to meet his gaze or express her gratitude. Because if she had done either one, he would have seen her fall in love with him.

Sensing her distress, he framed her other cheek and claimed her mouth. His kiss was passionate, full of volatility. The bone-deep chill that had invaded her body began to thaw, warming beneath his sensual assault. For the briefest of seconds, he let her burrow beneath the iron casing protecting him from harm. Beneath the casing beat the noblest of hearts, the purest of intentions. Beneath the casing she found hope.

Catherine pushed deeper, needing to learn more about this complicated man. But he discerned her attack and nudged her back, closing the small portal.

Lifting his head, he leveled his burning, yet resolute gaze on her. “What do they want?”

“Sebastian, I’m so sorry—”

He placed a finger across her mouth. “There’s no need.”

“But—”

The pad of his finger smoothed over her lower lip. “Answer me one question.”

She nodded, and he drew his hand away. He said nothing for several seconds, seeming to debate the merits of asking his question.

Then, “At any time, did you enjoy my touch?”

Catherine’s throat ached for the courage it took to ask such a question. She brushed the backs of her fingers along his unshaven jaw. “Every time, Sebastian.
Every
time.”

Beneath her caress, a muscle jumped. She returned her hand to her lap, unwilling to reveal any more of her blossoming feelings. For she knew, despite their shared passion, he would leave. And she would be alone again. This time, however, she knew better than to wait, for this man would not return.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and rose. At the corner table carrying an array of spirits, he paused. His stillness disconcerted her. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine.” When he turned back, he asked, “What does Cochran want?”

His expression, his tone, his stance—it was all reminiscent of the day she had visited him at his London town house. That meeting now felt as if it had taken place an eternity ago. Catherine fought to hold back an indelicate shiver.

“A list.”

If she thought he was still before, she had been wrong. The man who faced her was hewn of solid marble, not a hair or muscle moved. All warmth was gone. “What sort of list?”

“The one cataloging all trait—agents of the Nexus.”

Fury twisted his handsome face into a mask of hatred. He grasped something off the table and propelled it across the chamber; a monstrous shattering of crystal followed. “Bloody Reeves!”

Frowning, Catherine asked, “Reeves?”

But his anger made him deaf to her query. He prowled the length of the chamber, muttering recriminations and casting Reeves to the devil.

Catherine rose and placed the chair between them. She did not really believe the chair could protect her, but the meager barrier gave her a sense of comfort all the same.

He stopped. “Who the hell is Cochran?” White flames licked the outer edges of his steel-gray eyes.

Catherine clenched her teeth. “Supposedly a friend of Jeffrey’s. Someone who worked with my husband at the Foreign Office.”

His eyes narrowed. “When did Cochran first approach you?”

“In London. The afternoon following our meeting. He caught me outside Grillon’s and offered his condolences.”

“And offered you a good deal more information, I suspect.”

With his mask of indifference back in place, Catherine could no longer read the true intent behind his words. “Yes.”

“So,” he said, “the Foreign Office official shared some of the sordid details about your husband’s death, enough to cast me in a poor light.” He paused and lifted a brow in her direction.

She nodded.

“Then he ever so casually mentioned the government’s investigation into my last mission, sending further suspicion in my direction.”

Catherine closed her eyes, feeling like the absolute gudgeon she was.

“After Cochran established his willingness to share sensitive information, he asked for a favor in return.”

Nausea bubbled in the back of her throat. “All I wanted was the truth about my husband’s death.” She covered her mouth with her hand, certain she was about to be sick.

A large warm palm wrapped around her trembling fingers. He drew them to his lips, kissing their pads. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I should not have allowed my anger free rein. You are innocent in all this.”

“My stupidity”—his hand tightened, cutting off her recrimination—“my naïveté knows no bounds, does it?”

“Do not fret.” He pressed a gentling kiss upon her lips. “We have all succumbed to such ploys.”

She swallowed, wanting more of his reassuring lips. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it.” He released her hand and moved away. “Did Cochran ever mention a Lord Latymer?”

“No, not that I recall.”

He released a frustrated sigh. “Then I would like to know how Cochran found out about Reeves’s directive that I provide a list of all my agents, including their true identities.”

“Who is Reeves?”

“He’s the new Superintendent of the Alien Office.” He threw her an inquiring look. “Cochran explained the Alien Office’s function?”

“Intelligence gathering?”

“Good enough,” he said. “To my knowledge, no one knew about Reeves’s order, besides myself and three of my agents.”

“Maybe they let it slip?” she suggested.

“No,” he said. “At the time I informed them, I had not committed to the deed.”

“And now?” Catherine held her breath, expecting a rebuke.

His gaze flattened. “There is no and will be no catalog of agents. I will take their identities to the grave.”

Catherine stared at him with something akin to awe. How does one contain such a noble heart behind a shroud of ice? At great sacrifice to himself, he planned to disregard his superior’s order and protect the men and women under his command. The same way he protected his young wards all those years ago. The same way he promised to protect her and Sophie now.

On the cusp of that realization, her awe began to fade and a new sentiment emerged.

Terror.

“If I don’t bring Cochran the Nexus, he’s going to kill my daughter.”

A cold smile graced his lips. “Then let us give him the Nexus.”

August 18

Saturday morning dawned bright, matching Sophie’s winsome birthday smile. Her daughter’s infectious exuberance swept through the household with a velocity that would rival the
ton
’s most determined gossip. By the time the festivities started, Catherine’s entire staff was giddy with anticipation and Sophie was near bouncing off the walls.

If Cochran’s threat hadn’t been hanging over her head and Sebastian’s peculiar statement ringing in her ears, Catherine would have enjoyed the day immensely. As it was, she glanced around the parkland like a nervous bird every five minutes, seeing strangers in their midst.

“The gathering is a smashing success, Mrs. Ashcroft.” The vicar appeared next to her, juggling a heaping plate while following the children’s sack race. “Creating a life-sized version of Castle Dragonthorpe was no small feat.”

Catherine agreed. A drawbridge made of burlap, a moat outlined by timbers, and trellises for turrets took a great deal of ingenuity, but all the effort had been worth her daughter’s jubilation. “I’m glad you could come, Mr. Foster,” she said. “The day would not have been the same without you.”

“Meghan McCarthy’s violent death has shaken Showbury’s residents,” he said. “Some have gone so far as to whisper names for the missing father.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “And, therefore, the murderer?”

“Yes.” He wrestled a melon ball onto his fork. “This is a disturbing turn of events, but not surprising. In our grief, we believe the only way to set our loved one’s soul to rest is by punishing those responsible.”

Catherine caught sight of the earl strolling along the perimeter—er, moat—of Castle Dragonthorpe’s inner bailey. He projected calm and idleness. Few would recognize the occasional narrowing of his eyes or his preference for hovering near her daughter.

“But justice,” the vicar continued, “is mankind’s tool, not God’s, for keeping peace and is society’s attempt at soothing the hollow ache of those left behind.”

Could the same philosophy be applied to Catherine? Was her effort to track down Jeffrey’s killer and bring the man to justice nothing more than an attempt to relieve the never-ending void of loneliness in her heart? Something she had lived with long before his death?

“Forgive me, Mrs. Ashcroft.” His kind eyes roamed over her features. “This is not the place to discuss such a dreary topic. Today is about celebrating life and laughter.”

She smiled, thankful to be quit of the subject, even though a shadow lingered in her thoughts. “Indeed, Mr. Foster.” For what seemed like the hundredth time, her gaze sought out her daughter’s location and found her playing quoits with Teddy. “How is your courtship going?”

The vicar’s face reddened, then beamed with delight. “Miss Walker has consented to a drive and picnic tomorrow after services.”

Catherine placed her hand on his sleeve. “That is good news, Mr. Foster.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kind counsel on the matter.”

“Good morning, Vicar. Mrs. Ashcroft,” a newcomer interrupted. “How do you fare today?”

Catherine started. Sebastian’s voice sounded inches from her ear. Lifting her gaze, she found him staring at her hand resting on Mr. Foster’s arm. She eased her fingers away and clasped her hands together.

“I’m doing very well, my lord,” the vicar said. “How goes the search for a new steward?”

“Slow, I’m afraid.” He scanned the gathering. “If you know of a dependable gentleman with legitimate references and experience, please send him my way.”

“As it happens, I heard from an old university chum yesterday,” the vicar said. “His employer passed on and the heir is a bit of a scoundrel, or so my friend tells me. Timms is now considering his options. You’ll never meet a more honorable man. Such a shame, what’s happening, but fortuitous, don’t you think?”

“Sounds just the thing, Mr. Foster,” Sebastian said. “Please have him come see me.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the vicar said. “He’ll be delighted—”

“My dear Vicar.” Catherine’s mother sailed into their midst. “I see you have cleared a spot on your plate. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to Cook’s famous lemon cheesecake.”

He hesitated, clearly not interested in giving up his tête-à-tête with the earl.

“I promise you, sir,” her mother coaxed. “You shall not be disappointed.”

Pasting a vicar-like smile on his face, he said, “Pardon, Mrs. Ashcroft. My lord. I will return in a moment.”

“Please do.” Catherine followed the duo until her mother began an animated conversation on—she squinted to make out the object of their attention—she knew not what.

Sebastian guided her away from her guests milling about. “You and the vicar were rather cozy.”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “I’ve told you before, he’s a dear friend.”

“Dear enough to marry?” He must have regretted his query the moment it emerged, for he followed it with a rough command. “Forget it.”

“That’s not possible.” Her daughter’s laughter caught her attention. She watched Sophie’s next throw and smiled when the shoe hit the iron hob. “Where is this line of questioning coming from, Sebastian?”

A full minute ticked by before he answered. “The vicar mentioned he was contemplating marriage during our ride the other day,” he said. “I thought perhaps you were his chosen bride.”

His jealousy should have irritated her, but instead, his gruff explanation charmed her. “No, Sebastian. The good vicar has his sights set on Miss Walker, and she on him. But neither have had the gumption to approach the other.”

“I suppose you have been encouraging him to declare himself during your long drives?” he asked.

Fingers of heat spread into her cheeks. “Life’s too short to spend it alone and unhappy.”

She felt his searing gaze on her, but did not dare meet it. “How is that particular endeavor coming along?”

“They’re going on a picnic tomorrow afternoon.”

“What of you, Catherine?”

His low, intimate tone pierced her heart. “I don’t understand your question.”

“What will you do once your mourning has ended? Will you seek a father for your daughter?”

“Eventually,” she said. “I am wise enough to realize not all men are like my father and husband. Next time, I will choose more carefully.”

“Indeed—” Something caught his eye over her shoulder. “Where is Sophie?”

“She’s right over there.” Catherine swung around to where her daughter and Teddy were throwing quoits. Her eyes widened when she found nothing but two iron hobs sticking out of the ground and their discarded quoits. “Sebastian,” she whispered. “I saw them playing not but a minute ago.”

“Calm yourself,” he warned. “There are many tempting items in your make-believe castle to draw their attention.” He peered over her shoulder and flicked his index finger in a sharp circle. “Let us make a circuit of the area.”

“Yes, of course.” She accepted his arm. “Cochran would be a fool to attempt something while so many people are in attendance.”

“And yet a crowd can provide the best cover.” He glanced down at her. “I mention this not to frighten you, but to keep you from becoming complacent. You must never, ever underestimate your enemy.”

Catherine’s heart hammered within her chest. She did not like this spying business. Before this was all finished, she was quite certain her heart would never pound again.

They made a full circle around the crowd without one glimpse of a golden-red mop of curls. Her trepidation grew. She had made Sophie promise to stay within sight today, an edict that engendered a great many moans. But Catherine had never considered her daughter would disobey her in this way.

When Sebastian finally drew them to a halt, the muscles in Catherine’s throat ached from her effort to hold back the compulsive scream of her daughter’s name. She peered up at him. “I will round up several of the adults to scour the area. I don’t want to scare the children.” The moment she made to pull away, he covered her hand.

“A moment.” Rather than searching the area again with a thorough sweep of his gaze, Sebastian’s attention jumped from one point to the next.

“Sebastian, please.” She pulled at her hand. “I cannot stand this inactivity.”

He nodded at someone in the distance, and the tension faded from his taut features. “Come, I believe we missed a hiding spot.”

Confused by his odd behavior, Catherine accompanied him across the lawn without a word, although she chafed at his unhurried pace. He stopped next to the dessert table and pointed to a two-inch gap between tablecloths. “Your damsel in distress, madam.”

Catherine crouched down and peered into the gap. Sure enough, Sophie and the stable lad, Teddy, sat beneath the table, alternately stuffing chocolate puffs into their mouth and staging battles with pieces from her daughter’s Dragonthorpe collection.

“Sophia Adele, may I see you for a moment?”

Round blue eyes peered through the opening.

Catherine crooked her finger.

“Do not kill my gargoyle while I’m gone, Teddy. I’ll be vexed.” Her daughter scampered out from beneath the table. She brushed an incriminating crumb from her lavender skirts. The half-mourning color was a small concession for her party. “Yes, Mama?”

Catherine grabbed her daughter’s hand and led her several feet away. “Did you not promise to stay within sight?”

Sophie glanced back at the table.

“I shall have your full attention, young lady.” Catherine waited until her daughter’s gaze returned to hers. “Did I not tell you, if you can’t see me, I can’t see you?”

“But, Mama,” Sophie said. “I could see you.” She indicated the space between the tablecloths, where Teddy now watched her daughter’s scolding with rapt attention. “I saw you chatting with the vicar and strolling with the earl.”

Catherine blinked, unable to think of a response to her daughter’s six-, or rather, seven-year-old logic. “Do you know the scare you gave me?”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Sophie turned her doleful blue eyes on her. “Please don’t be upset.”

Cupping the back of her daughter’s head, Catherine kissed the vixen’s forehead. “I’m not, but allow me to clarify my statement. We must
both
be able to see each other.”

Sophie nodded, her gaze going back to the table again.

“None of that, dear,” Catherine said. “You have many guests to attend. All of your time cannot be spent with Teddy, no matter how tempting.”

“Do you think the earl would mind if Teddy came along to see his horses?”

Catherine glanced back to find Sebastian encouraging the boy from beneath the table. “There’s only one way to find out, and that’s to ask.” She held out her hand when Sophie started to rush over to her two favorite men. “Make your request like a young lady, title and all.”

Her daughter smiled. “Thank you, Mama.”

She took off, but immediately slowed her breakneck pace to a more sedate stroll. Well, almost sedate. She looked the epitome of sweetness from the waist up. However, her feet were throwing up patches of grass in her wake.

Stopping before Sebastian, Sophie executed a perfect curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lord Somerton. Are you enjoying my birthday celebration?”

He bowed. “Indeed, I am.”

She waved her hand toward her friend. “I see you’ve met Teddy. Did he tell you about his mama?”

Sebastian glanced at Catherine, a glint in his eyes. “I’m afraid not.”

Sophie sent her friend a sympathetic look. “His mama is terribly ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Teddy.”

The stable lad’s face flamed. “Thank you, sir.”

“He loves horses.” Her daughter bent at the waist until Sebastian’s attention shifted back to her. “The only horses he sees all day are Guinevere and Gypsy. Sweet creatures, but they cannot compare to a
whole
barn
full
of horses.” She rose up on her toes as if to punctuate her statement, an expectant look lighting her cherub face.

“Hmm.” Sebastian rubbed his jaw. “As it happens, I have a whole barn full of horses.”

Sophie clapped her hands together, looking from Sebastian to Teddy. “I know.”

In a conspiratorial whisper, Sebastian asked, “Do you think your friend would like to join us later this afternoon?”

Her daughter let out an excited squeak. “Teddy, the earl has invited you to see his horses. Maybe he’ll let you ride Cira, too.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow, but Sebastian kept his gaze on the boy.

Teddy smiled, revealing the beginnings of a new tooth coming in. “Thank you, m’lord.”

“Oh, dear me.” Sebastian laid an exaggerated hand to his chest, a look of consternation on his handsome face.

Sophie and Teddy shared a worried glance. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I just recalled something very important. Something that might change your mind about visiting my stables.”

Catherine watched her daughter slip her hand into Sebastian’s. “Don’t worry, sir. Teddy and I will want to see your stables, no matter what.”

“Truly?” He looked between two pairs of earnest eyes. “Even if I don’t have a red horse?”

Sophie frowned and Teddy looked bewildered. Catherine covered her mouth to hide her smile.

Then Sophie noticed Sebastian’s lips twitch. “Oh, Bastian. Horses are nothing to joke about.”

“Sophie,” Catherine scolded. “You must not be so informal with his lordship.”

“I gave her leave to do so.” Sebastian sent her daughter a gentle smile. “Didn’t I, sprite?”

She giggled. “Yes, Bastian. If I’m a sprite, does that make Teddy a brownie?”

Sebastian, bless him, tousled poor Teddy’s hair. “What do you say, lad? Would you like to be a brownie to Miss Sophie’s sprite?”

He gave them another gap-toothed grin. “Brownies like barns, don’t they, sir?”

“Indeed, they do.”

“Then I shall be a brownie.”

“And I a sprite.”

“And I Bastian.”

Three pairs of eyes turned toward Catherine. “What?”

“What shall we call you?” Sophie asked, bouncing with excitement.

“Um… Mama?”

Sophie groaned, Teddy ducked, and Sebastian smiled.

“Let us give your mother’s nickname some thought, shall we?” Sebastian suggested. “In the meantime, I believe sprite has a few guests she needs to greet.” He glanced at Catherine for confirmation.